


All Day And All Of The Night

by satterthwaite



Category: The Tudors (TV), Wolf Hall (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 60s setting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bra-burning feminists, F/M, Mai 1968 | May 1968, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 19:38:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11561958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satterthwaite/pseuds/satterthwaite
Summary: Anne Boleyn is so much more than just a pretty baby doll : the revolutions of the Golden Sixties will give her a mean to prove it. She might fall in love along the way...





	All Day And All Of The Night

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic was heavily inspired by the 2012 BBC Two series "White Heat", especially for the instalment of the first chapter. I recommend you watch it because it is an excellent TV show!  
> The title is taken from one of The Kinks' greatest hits, "All Day and All of the Night", and the title of the chapter is taken from "Downtown" by Petula Clark  
> All translation of French can be found at the end of the chapter!

"Ce n’est qu’un début, continuons le combat!" Anne chanted from the balcony of her friend Claude’s flat, above the crowded street and its chaos. Students were marching, throwing pieces of the pavement they had just dismantled ; they made barricades and rioted with the police. Anne felt the exhilaration of all those high-school and university goers ; she was ready to go down and march with them for a brighter future.  
"Anne, c’est ton père au téléphone" Claude called for her and she picked up the phone from her friend’s hand.  
"Allô ? Papa?" Thomas Boleyn was the British ambassador to France.  
"Je te renvois immédiatement en Angleterre, jeune fille!"  
"Pourquoi? Non, s’il te plaît!"  
"Pas de discussion! Tu es dans le premier avion demain."

* * *

She had gone out of the house in her Sunday best (the clothes her mother had picked out for her) and had gotten changed in the cab: her skirt had lost six inches and she had tossed the Burberry trench coat, sad in its beige colour, in favour of an orange slicker which matched the colour of her skirt. Under her turtle neck top and into her brassiere, she had shoved in some paper tissue before touching up the cat’s eye make-up her mother had allowed. 

Of course Anne was ready to take Cambridge by storm.  
She had decided to go for English literature studies, following into Mary’s footsteps who was on her way to becoming a teacher in a prestigious private establishment just out of London — that is, if she didn’t become a housewife first. Anne had no intention of following that sort of lead, and would have probably gone into more artistic fields, if that even had been an option for her. Unfortunately, she was the middle child and unlike her younger brother George, she wasn’t allowed any mistakes in her choices and behaviour.  
What she had managed to obtain, however, was to live outside of home, and with other people. ‘How am I supposed to live the true experience of university if I don’t share it with other people?’ She had argued, and after weeks of fighting with her parents, she had gained victory, and the right to go on the hunt for a flat and flatmates.  
This one had had an original ring to it — ‘apply only if you wish to take part in an unique community experience’ — and the rent price had been beyond competition (not that the Boleyns lacked money, but anything was too expensive compared to the cost-free option of living at home, like Mary had done) And when she saw the looks of Charles Brandon, the deal became even more interesting.  
At once she was grateful for the change of clothes which had occurred in the morning, and as she walked through the flat, looking at the available bedrooms, she noticed his following glance, and she smiled — she just got more chance of getting a room here than anyone else she was in competition with. When he leaned against the doorframe and asked her if she liked what she was seeing, she wondered, for the briefest moment, whether he meant him or the room. When she replied that she did, her answer worked for both.

No doubt from a rather posh environment himself, that Charles Brandon was however interested in creating a community to shatter the barriers of social class. Anne had raised an eyebrow at his speech, a mix of communism and social experiment, with just the touch of sexual freedom added to the mix.  
"We want to get rid of the bourgeois state of mind" he had claimed as they were gathered in the kitchen, she had smiled. Her father would never allow her to live here if he heard such speech ; it only sparked Anne’s interest more.

Of course she was moving in a week later, alongside with four other people, chosen by Brandon himself. The two other girls were called Elizabeth Worcester and Margaret Gruber : Elizabeth must have been around Anne’s age, and of as petulant a nature, while Margaret must have been at least five years older and came from Austria, where she had studied Law already and wished to further her education in one of the most prestigious schools in Europe.  
The two other people chosen were also of vastly different backgrounds: William Fitzwilliam was studying to be an accountant, and Mark Smeaton was the boy on a scholarship to study music. King over their little world was Charles himself, a political science student who appeared quite proud of the little universe he had created.

* * *

 

"So do your parents know you’re living with boys?" Of course it ought to be the first question asked between the girls. Anne was lying on Elizabeth’s bed as she was starting on the decoration of her room : being in the artistic field herself, she was covering up the walls with prints of vaguely known paintings and pictures of obscure artists Anne had never heard about, but who obviously must have been quite groundbreaking and game-changing in their own fields. Anne shrugged.  
"Of course not. They would probably have a stroke…" she smiled. She could only imagine her mother's face at knowing all that she had done already, starting with changing all the clothes she had been given for new, more fashionable ones to taking up the habit of smoking, as everyone seemed to do within the flat. Within a week of being there, it seemed already she was beginning a new life, and even though she had regretted leaving Paris just when things were starting to get really interesting, she felt they could be equally so, here in England.  
"What's that?" she asked, picking up one of the many posters than were still scattered on the floor, waiting for their turn to be pinned up on the wall.  
"That?" Elizabeth turned to see what her friend was holding up. "That's an old thing from last year that was given to me by a group of women. It was to support the strikers at the Dagenham Ford factory." In black, capital letters were written the words 'EQUAL PAY FOR EQUAL WORK'.  
"Can I have it to put it in my room?" Anne asked. She realised she had nothing to decorate her bedroom with, because everything had been left behind in Paris in the care of her friend Claude.  
"Sure." Elizabeth shrugged, and went back to pinning the portrait of Alain Delon, the only familiar face to Anne.  
"You know I met him in Paris, once."  
"Are you fucking kidding me."  

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. "It's only the beginning, we must keep on fighting!"  
> 2\. "Anne, it's your father on the phone."  
> 3\. "I'm sending you back to England at once, young lady!"  
> 4\. "Why? No, please!"  
> 5\. "No discussion! You are taking the first plane tomorrow." 
> 
> The beginning is set during the events of May 1968 in Paris, during a student uprising against the government.


End file.
